Thank you for continuing to read 'The Story Behind the Grey Eyes,' all of the support and lovely comments I have received have genuinely encouraged me to continue writing. I'm always grateful for any comments you may have!
I do not own the Hunger Games nor its characters.
Chapter Thirty-Two
I'm woken up on this cold January morning by such a loud bang that my hands instantly fly up to my ears. I sit up in bed and look around before grabbing my knife. Only moments ago I was dreaming that I was back in the arena and Dinium, Clo and Maysilee were all trying to bludgeon me to death with spiked maces. That had been the only weapon the tributes were allowed last year and the deaths were some of the most horrific I have ever seen in the Games.
I call out to see if someone has broken in to the house but no one replies and after looking through all of the rooms it's clear that I'm the only soul here. Nothing has been moved and I can't hear footsteps.
I go back in to my room and look out of the window across the district; it always amazes me how grey everything is. Not only does coal dust cover about every inch of it but the buildings and paths are all dark colours and looks dismal. I think of District Four with its turquoise sea and little fishing villages, despite the dictatorship we live under they still have some beauty to admire. We just have grey.
Just when I give up on trying to work out what the loud noise was I see hoards of people running towards the mines and it doesn't take me long to realise that the two must be linked. I pull on some warm clothes and run out of the house, following the crowds of people.
"There's been an explosion!" I hear someone shout, shortly followed by hysterical screams and cries.
Everyone is pushing each other, trying to get close enough to see what's happening. Children have run out of the school and mothers are frantically attempting to keep them away whilst calling out for their husbands. The baker has run in to view and is trying to herd people in to some sort of order so that there is room for the miners to get out of the lifts. His three sons are helping by guiding people to safer areas with the youngest uttering soothing words to one particularly hysterical woman.
I need to do something but I don't know what. I could try to calm people down, reassure them. No one would listen to me, even if I tried. I just melt in to the crowd and wait for the others. In another life it would be me in that mine, suffering from the explosion and Tilly would be standing here, waiting to see if I was alive.
After what seems like hours the first lift opens and a group of six or so miners fall out of it, quickly met by screams of relief from their families. They're all covered in coal dust and blood, one even has a deep gash on the top of his thigh and his face has been drained of all colour. All I can think of when I see them is the arena and the blood that poured out of Maysilee's throat as she died. It seems like I cannot escape her today.
I can't face this, I'm a pathetic excuse of a man that has no right to have a panic attack right now. Instead, I slink away in to the crowd and run home, panting like a dog that's been running for miles. I can still hear the screams and the cries but I can't help. They don't need me. They're better without me.
Three weeks later and I have a front row seat at the memorial service. The stage that is used for the Reaping has been reconstructed and the Mayor is giving a speech about how terrible the accident was. A few Capitol officials are sat on chairs, feigning sympathy but their brightly coloured clothes just look out of place in the sea of grey that is before them.
The families of the dead miners line up next to the stage, waiting to receive a medal that is meant to help their feeling of loss, somehow. Stupid Capitol.
Cliff Everdeen's name is called and a gaunt looking Clara takes to the stage with her two daughters; one is a dark haired girl of about eleven, who reminds me so much of her father whereas her sister looks to be about six and has Clara's blonde hair. I can't say I was ever friends with Cliff but I respected him a great deal, like all of 12 did. He was a rare example of a good man in this sorry place and I know that a lot of his game kept families alive. I can't help but wonder how this small family is going to cope now, I can't imagine that Clara would be able to hunt and all of her family from Town are long gone. Any money they did have was lost a long time ago.
"And presented with this medal of valour is Katniss Everdeen, Cliff Everdeen's eldest daughter," says the Mayor, handing the medal to the grieving girl. Her face is expressionless yet hard, it's as if she knows she's going to have to grow up quickly and soon.
As disgusted as I am to say it, I'm almost glad when my annual trip to the Capitol comes around. The last few months in 12 have been worse than ever, since the mining explosion everyone has been in a state of grief. Even those who didn't lose anyone knew someone who died, we're a small district and the mines are many families' main sources of income. I'm just glad that Vieve's husband works in Town, I wouldn't want her to go through losing her husband.
My tributes this year are as thin and weak as ever and make no effort to hide their disgust with me, which suits me fine. I tell them to let the stylists do whatever it is they want with them as I always do, it's their only hope when they have a mentor like me, and then we part ways, with me heading straight to a local bar. I know more than anyone that my need for alcohol has got worse over the years, I can almost hear Titam's sighs of disappointment, but without it I cannot bare to face the world. It doesn't like me and I don't like it so the less I'm aware of it, the better.
I turn up at the Victor's Box slightly tipsy and hoping to chat with Finnick. The rebellion recruited him after it became clear that the women he's being forced to sleep with know a lot about the sordid affairs of the Capitol and may have some dirt on Snow that we could use one day. I was all for him joining but I just want to make sure he knows what he's getting in to, he was adamant this time last year that he wanted to be a part of it but a lot can happen in a year, as any victor will tell you.
However, he's not here so I head over to Chaff and ask him about his tributes, he's off the hook this year with Seeder and an older victor from 11 choosing to mentor, instead. Mags soon joins us with a look of huge concern on her face.
"What's happened?" I ask.
"Finnick," she says, "The girl he's in love with has been reaped this year and he's her mentor. I can just tell that it's torturing him."
I can imagine, not only has he got to deal with the constant sexualisation he's being placed under but now he's facing the prospect of losing someone he loves. I can't help but think of Tilly. I only hope that if the worst does happen he doesn't retreat from the rebellion, we need him.
"Do you think she could win?" Chaff asks.
"I don't know, she's a nice girl, fiery sometimes, but I don't know if she could kill anyone and I doubt her survival skills are up to much."
"Well, the whole Capitol is in love with Finnick, hopefully he can bring in enough sponsors for her."
Mags sighs and it's then that I can see that Finnick has entered the room; every female has their eyes on him and some of the men, too, for that matter. The fourteen year old that entered the arena four years ago has disappeared and a muscular, chiseled young man that is idolised all over the country has replaced him. He has no trouble with flirting, now, and is currently whispering something crude in to Cashmere's ear.
Once he's disentangled himself from her and the many other young female victors that we have he makes his way over to us and the flirtatious smile he was just wearing quickly fades.
"Don't say anything," he says, "I just need a day to comprehend it all before I listen to any advice."
"Well, you're going to get it, anyway," I say, "You need to be careful from the start. If Snow finds about your girl he's only going to make things worse for you. These ladies you have to see, they're not going to be happy about sharing you with someone you genuinely love." Everyone looks at me for a moment, I know they were all thinking it, maybe even Finnick was to a certain extent, but I'm the only one who voiced it. "Does...what's her name?"
"Annie," Finnick replies, the pain clear in his voice.
"Does Annie know about these women you have to visit?" He nods, "If she still loves you knowing that then you do everything you can to get her home, okay?"
He smirks at this, "I never had you down as a romantic, Haymitch." Everyone laughs but I just groan and head for the bar. If that's what I get for trying to reach out to someone I'd rather just get drunk. Still, I think I perked him up a little bit.
I pour myself another drink and can see that Plutarch has entered with a few other Gamemakers and they're all circulating the room. I have no idea if he got the senior Gamemaker job but by the way the others are looking at him I guess that he has; they're all younger than him, anyway, apart from Seneca Crane, who landed the job of Head Gamemaker last year.
I head back towards Mags, Finnick and Chaff to see that Cecelia has now joined them. Her stomach is slightly swollen and Mags is running her hand over it, grinning the way women do when they think about babies. It's a rare moment of sweetness under awful circumstances.
"I've turned in to a baby machine over the last few years!" Cecelia says as I approach. I wonder if Vieve was that chirpy when she was pregnant or if she became really moody, I've heard that it can go either way.
Plutarch saunters over with a huge grin on his face and begins to shake everybody's hands. I get the sense that now is not the time for talk of rebellion; there are Gamemakers everywhere and Plutarch has his smug game face on.
"Nice to see you again, Plutarch," says Mags.
"Yes, well it's always good to make contact, isn't it? I've been doing this for almost thirteen years now and getting to chat with previous victors is always my favourite part." He chuckles and raises his eyebrows at us just so that we know what he's referring to.
We all smile and agree, there's no way we couldn't understand what he's trying to say. He's made contact with District Thirteen.